It's kinda like Buyer's Remorse, except mine happens anywhere and everywhere, whether stores are open or not. All I have to do is open my mouth.
Speaker's Remorse happens when things fall out of my mouth that even amaze ME, and leave me generally confused and shameful that I would even consider telling someone a story so personal/stupid/insanely truthful. Only, the confusion and shame happen hours later as I reply the conversation trying to relive the original hilarity; I never feel shame in the moment. Oh no, that comes on the drive home, or in the shower two days later, like some stupid 80's made-for-TV movie to keep latch-key kids from becoming sociopaths because both parents work. Awesome.
Allow me to demonstrate.
I went on a Mommy-Play-Date today, which is to say I'm auditioning a new mommy-friend to be in my inner circle of peeps. It's a hard, tricky thing, making friends of parents of friends of your kids. This is especially true when you're horribly and profoundly, socially inept and awkward on all levels. I make Sandra Bullock look like Kate Middleton, on a good day.
On one hand, the helicopter parent in me likes making friends of fellow parents because I can fake-parent through those other parents. (anyone else bored by using all the same words over and over again? there must be a better way to write this, but I'm too busy not weeding my garden to figure it out)
For example, when my kiddo goes to her friend Hendrix' house. Hendrix' parents are much less preoccupied with whether there are "mild, frightening scenes" in movies than I am. So, after I made friends with Hendrix' Momma, I started dropping hints that probably Kiddo #1 would die of fright if she EVER watched Nightmare Before Christmas. let alone Brave! At least I assume I dropped hints like that, because while I have no recollection of having said anything of the sort, when Hendrix' little sister asked if everyone could watch Willy Wonka And the Chocolate Factory (the Depp version, if it matters to you), Hendrix' Momma deflected the request, grabbed the DVD and whisper-shouted to the toddler, "Elizabeth will punch me in the throat if we watch that right now."
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| "Elizabeth will punch ME IN THE THROAT! PUT that movie away NOW." |
Considering how much that phrasing sounds... kinda like a quote, I can only assume I have said something of that ilk at least once before.
And that's when the Speaker's Remorse starts. It's not that I'm judging how the Hendrix family parents. It's just that, frankly, I don't want to deal with the shitty, shitty aftermath of my kids' exposure to stuff that I can hardly handle, myself. The nightmares, the bawling at 3am, the sleeping in our bed in perpetuity... I love my sleep way too much to be a kind, comforting parent once the sun has gone down. I'm like a Gremlin. Don't wake this bitch up after midnight, or shit will get REAL.
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| Don't wake up Mommy after midnight or shit will get REAL. Plus, I sleep in the nude. |
I'd rather be the parent that verbally threatens my kids' friends' parents into submission than the one who is rubbing backs while sniffly-snot and salty tears are wiped on my arm (because guess which parent lost the rock-paper-scissors AND sleeps in the nude?)
See, and there I go again-- I've announced to the entire Interwebs that I am not just a nude sleeper but that I am also the laziest parent in the world and I feel like, "Why the frick would I tell anyone that? Shouldn't that be a secret I take to my (hopefully also nude) final resting place?"
Speaker's Remorse: there is no end in sight.
But let's get back to today's swimming play date, shall we? I'm sure you're dying to hear how things went awesome, you peppy cheerleader, you.
After almost a year of "Mommy-dating" this other Mom, meaning we'd run into each other all over town, either with my kids or with hers, but never with both sets of kids together,
And that split second is how everything always falls apart. Not because of the chick pea spread, but because I get so excited that someone who is possibly cool wants to hang out with me. ME! The nerd from an 80's teen movie complete with braces and big hair and really terrible dance moves.
Luckily, I started off on the right foot. Wait, I mean, I started it out the normal way; I double booked the time. I get excited about making new friends (or just hanging out with regular friends) that I just scream out YES! before consulting any calendar whatosever. I was so determined to maybe (finally) make a friend of this other Mommy, that I cancelled my other thing (specialist appointments aren't THAT big a deal. I can wait another 9 months to see the Dr about the gigantic lump on my foot, right?) and hustled over to the pool.
Late.
LATE! The Speaker's Remorse began from the first "Soooo sorry I'm late." and continued on with, "I had to try and squeeze my gigantic, lumpy foot into this flip flop and it took longer than I figured it would." Shit. I wasn't going to draw attention to it. I was kinda hoping she wouldn't notice it. Nice. Well played, MOUTH.
She, now concerned I might be bringing that foot issue into the (well-chlorinated, but still) pool, nervously laughed and offered to come out and sit on the sun chairs with me.
Undeterred (I hadn't even broken into my bag of oddness yet!) I hopped into the frigid waters and (teeth chattering) told her I was fine.
Over the next hour, I managed to chit-chat about such completely normal and benign topics as: ingrown hairs and how I've had the various ones removed, bizarre things I've pulled off our black lab, itchy scar tissue, and English words that gross me out (including, but not limited to: moist, syncopation, and pinafore). Yeesh.
The best part of this is, at the time, this other Mom laughed and was lovely. Wonderfully accepting, or perhaps needing a friend even more than I do, she seemed to giggle and nod or tell those "in-addition-to" stories that would then provoke more laughter and even dumber stories to come from my mouth.
We watched our kids play near each other (the joys of having super independent kids is that they don't feel the need to actually interact, which usually seems weird, but trust me, I've got weird cornered, so this just seems ok). Saved Kiddo #2 (who is only 2) from almost drowning and then remembered that I've got to put a life jacket on him or I won't be able to really dive into my collection of stupid things to say to a new friend!
I swear, conversations become games of Double Dog Dare (pitting my last comment against my next comment) in a matter of seconds. Luckily, I keep choosing both Dare and Truth at the same time. Double Dog Yeesh.
But it wasn't until we were done in the pool, sitting there warming up like a bunch of lizards on rocks, that the weight of the words I said actually started to sink in.
Seriously? I'd said that? And that? Oooh and THAT!?! On a First-Mommy-Date? I couldn't get out of there fast enough and I was so preoccupied with getting the hellouttathere that I didn't stop to think that it looked like I can't stand the person I'm with and that she also, maybe, smells like a dog in heat? Gah.
I smiled and waved while hauling the kids to the car trying to escape my words that seemed to playfully skip and linger along the glistening water like the stupid foam motorcycle that Kiddo #2 spent a long time 'driving' in the pool. Wait. No, that motorcycle is super cool, unlike my stories. So really, that floaty foam motorcycle was actually the opposite of my anecdotes.
For the rest of the afternoon, I broke down every conversation, trying to rationalize and walk through how we went from here to there and back again, all the while wishing Gandalf had screamed out "YOU. SHALL. NOT. PASS." when I humped my lumpy foot across the threshold of the cute community pool.
It's a wonder I have friends at all.
So, if you're out there, Friend, it's me, Elizabeth. I can't wait until 2 o'clock, Friend. That's when our play date starts...
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